


Working with the Dark

by Neyiea



Series: Equivalency [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-11 23:43:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: Their excursion into the Green Zone had proven fruitful, but not everyone seems to have had as good a time as Scarecrow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariadnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes/gifts).



> For queendromeda, because you deserve some scarebat content that you haven't written yourself. (Hope Jonathan turns out okay, I really only have experience writing him in misfit(toy)s so far.)
> 
> Jonathan's followers being freaked out by Bruce in Year Zero just tickles me pink since they've pledged their loyalty to, you know, the master of fear. I feel like Jonathan would have some _thoughts_ about that. 
> 
> xoxo

Their excursion into the Green Zone had proven fruitful. Seeing Jim Gordon again, seeing the unease in his eyes as he realized just who was there with him in the dark, had been exhilarating. Even if he hadn’t managed to kill him at least he’d seen the dread creep upon him when he realized that Scarecrow’s men were stealing supplies, and there was nothing he could do about it.

His skin burns faintly at the steam that he’d been exposed to, but the pain is nothing compared to the thrill of victory. 

But not everyone seems to have had as good a time as Jonathan. He even spies some of them, the ones who’d been instructed to go to the hospital, limping back to base out of the corner of his eye, and he finds himself feeling disappointed in them. 

How had his followers been outmaneuvered in their own element? Desperation and fear are so thick in the Green Zone that he can almost taste it; all of them should have been able to take advantage of the steadily growing turmoil, and all of them working together should have been a force beyond reckoning. A hospital staffed with a skeleton crew and a handful of weak-links shouldn’t have been where the majority of his people’s injuries had come from.

They’re lucky that he can tell that they still managed to take supplies during their raid, otherwise he’d have no qualms about ending their miserable lives with his scythe. 

When they return to their base he gives no warning before he pulls the mask off of one of his followers. Her surprise fades after only a moment, and once her eyes are placid again Jonathan coolly regards the fresh bruising on her jawline.

“What happened to you?”

“There was some guy down in the hospital basement.” Her expression shifts, almost too quick for him to read, but he catches sight of something that shouldn’t be felt towards anyone housed in the Green Zone. Particularly not by those who are loyal to him. “He threw us off.”

Some guy. Assumedly that meant: one man.

His dominion is fear, and he is the master of it. To have those who have pledged to follow him ‘thrown off’ by a single unnamed do-gooder is irksome.

Especially since he’d told them to kill whoever stood in their way.

They shouldn’t have had a problem taking apart one measly Green Zone dweller, not after all that they’d been able to do out here in the Dark Zone where their adversaries could be so much more ruthless. 

He drags his scythe on the ground behind him and he feels full of something satisfying when he watches those assembled before him fight back their shudders at the rough, grinding sound. 

His followers revel in the terror of others, but they have yet to fully overcome it as he has.

No one will ever overcome it as he has. He has transformed himself into what was once his greatest fear, and now there is nothing left on this earth that can frighten him. 

“Did you see him?”

For several long moments there is nothing but silence. He doesn’t try to fill it, instead he waits for the obvious discomfort of the group assembled before him to reach a breaking point. 

“Not very well,” one of them finally speaks up. “He was wearing black, and it looked as though he had night vision goggles on. Once the lights came back on we were too busy getting out to notice anything else.”

The mention of night vision makes Jonathan pause for a moment.

To work with the dark, instead of against the dark, was something that he hadn’t expected of anyone in the Green Zone. He’d expected leftover flashlights, maybe even actual torches if their battery count was getting low, anything that would keep the inky darkness at bay when he’d disconnected the generator.

For someone to use the shadows to their advantage instead of just desperately attempting to cast them away with light…

He will admit to a small amount of intrigue. 

“Be more careful next time. And don’t disappoint me,” he lets a threatening edge weave into his tone and watches with gratification as they all stand up taller, shoulders back. His dreadful disciples, ready to bring forth the realm of fear that he’s been longing for. “I won’t be as forgiving should this happen again.”

A shadow walker in the Green Zone who is frightening enough to have an effect on his followers is something to keep an eye out for. Someone who allowed themselves to be tied so deeply to the dark—that primal, ever-lingering fear of the world before man discovered fire. The place where dread and terror had always and would always reside—was, if not an embodiment of fear like himself, then at least a vessel for it. 

They sound like someone who Jonathan would be pleased to have join his ranks.

The Green Zone houses the last bit of hope in Gotham, one final brilliant light to keep the shadows of their situation, and the Dark Zone, at bay. But the brighter the light, the darker the shadows; and the darkest shadows carry the most interesting secrets.

It’s almost enough to make him contemplate going back to the Green Zone, but he decides against the whim.

There is so much more work to be done out here. His kingdom of fear won’t build itself.

As chance would have it, he doesn’t need to slip back into the Green Zone to scope them out anyway. 

He’d heard the helicopter flying overhead a few days ago, just as he’d heard whispers about it being shot down from the sky before it could land the day afterwards. It mattered little to him, he already had a well-guarded stockpile of precious goods after all, and whatever had happened to the helicopter and the goods it had carried was not something he felt the need to concern himself about.

Not until it had become clear that someone was stealing from his stockpile, somehow managing to slip past not one but three guards.

Jonathan had only realized because he’d been making plans to plant a few packs of seeds, nothing that any of his followers would even think to pilfer for themselves, and when he’d went in to look for them they’d been gone. Then he’d looked harder, searched more thoroughly, and had found that a bag that had once been filled with dry beans had been replaced by one filled with pebbles.

Someone had come in and looted small things for themselves, testing the waters before likely committing to a grander heist.

To say that he was mad was an understatement, and he’d made a gruesome example of the leader that he’d put on duty.

Then he’d hung the body on a cross, just as he and his followers did to those who didn’t deserve a place out here. He had been able to feel the unease in the ranks, and instead of basking in it he was irritated.

“Someone has been taking from us,” he told them in a firm voice. “It won’t happen again.”

And he had laid in wait in the shadows, just beyond the line of sight of the extra guards that he had drafted into duty, and had contemplated just how he would destroy the one responsible for taking that which he had rightfully stolen.

His eyes, more accustomed to the dark than his followers’, had caught sight of the moving shadow first. Too far away for any features to be distinguishable and blending in too well to the surroundings to seem like much more than a mirage. He’d suspected, then, that this had been the one who had given his people trouble in the basement of the hospital.

Then he’d seen one of his followers jerk as if struck, then slowly drop to the floor, then slide into the darkness without a word, and he had felt…

Excited. 

He’d moved out of his hiding place, keeping close to the shadowy edges as his other guards slowly became aware that one of them wasn’t responding to their conversation. Then a second wasn’t responding. Then a third finally made a sound, a muffled cry as they were attacked, and when the remaining two guards rushed over to their prone form they cast their dim flashlights around, trying to find the interloper without success.

Because he had, somehow, climbed above them.

Jonathan watches with interest as the figure in black drops down from above, his quick, vicious movements enough to keep up with the remaining guards even though he himself appears unarmed, while all of Jonathan’s men at the very least had knives on their person.

The man made of shadows radiates danger in a way that makes Jonathan’s heart beat a little faster. He’s not frightened, not like his followers obviously are at facing an opponent that doesn’t seem to be going down, he’s…

Something more. Something better.

But it was high time to take the shadow man’s main advantage away. 

With a flick of a switch his rarely-used, solar powered lights turn on. They’re not much, but they’re enough that the shadow man brings his arms up over his face to protect his sensitive eyes. Jonathan’s one remaining guard manages to land a few hits while he’s blinded, but the shadow man, barely more than a boy, really, lashes out with a brutality that sets Jonathan’s skin alight. He might not be able to see with his eyes clenched behind his goggles, but because of the attack he knows where the guard is, and he clearly doesn’t have to see his opponents to fight.

Fascinating. 

Jonathan is almost sad that he’ll have to kill him.

Or maybe, he begins to think, maybe he could convert him.

Such a person, so at home in the dark, would certainly be a welcome addition to his group. So strong and cunning; a perfect right hand man. Someone who could help Jonathan make his disciples stronger, better, more. Someone who could help Jonathan bring about his greatest wish.

Such a ferocious, undaunted man doesn’t belong with the weak chaff in the Green Zone, anyways. He’d be more at home out here, in the Dark Zone, where his skills could be put to better use. 

The last of Jonathan’s guards falls, and the man reaches up to his face and tears the goggles away.

Jonathan’s breath catches in his throat as he sees Bruce Wayne squinting against the lights.

He only lets himself be caught off guard for a moment, because even that moment is too much, before he rushes in to take the place of his guard.

Bruce hears him coming and catches sight of him, shifting out of the way before Jonathan can dispatch him by catching him in the ribs with the blunt end of his scythe. It doesn’t take very long for him to figure out that his weapon is more of a hinderance than a help in this fight, it broadcasts his intentions far too easily and Bruce doesn’t freeze in fear at the winding up of his blade like many before him have.

He casts his scythe aside, and in the back of his mind he wonders just how the most famous billionaire orphan in the country became… This. Dark and resilient, a being who could so easily slip into the shadows and become one with them.

Then he lifts up the hand where his cannisters of fear-toxin are kept.

That, at long last, gets a reaction out of Bruce. His eyes go wide as he flings himself out of the range of the spray.

Jonathan is struck with a memory. Bruce had been exposed to his toxin before. Diluted, yes, but for a long enough time that it had built up in his system and caused him to cry out in such wonderful torment. Jonathan hadn’t been around in the aftermath of Jeremiah Valeska’s failed scheme, but the experience should have stayed with Bruce, should have changed him, should have turned him into a spectacular mess of a human being just as Jonathan had been before he’d overcome it all, before he’d become the Scarecrow.

Jonathan is alone and unmatched in his conquest of fear.

But Bruce, he thinks, could possibly be a close second. 

He doesn’t have the opportunity to think about the ramifications of such a discovery before Bruce tackles him to the ground.

He is pinned, held immobile, but still he is not afraid.

He licks his lips and wonders if this is how it began for Jerome and Jeremiah, the strange, obvious obsession that the both of them had developed for the teenager who’s currently snarling down at Jonathan with the fires of retribution sparkling in his dark, serious eyes. 

“I’ve come to take back what you stole,” Bruce tells him, as if Jonathan hadn’t already figured that out. “I don’t have to hurt you.”

“You don’t have to,” Jonathan finds himself saying, “but you could.”

“You’re right,” he responds coldly, his grip on Jonathan tightening. “I could.”

Something warm and wicked begins to flow through Jonathan. His fingers and toes curl at the feeling.

“My other followers will come when they see the lights are on, you’ll be outnumbered and outmatched now that you don’t have the dark working with you.”

Even now, he can hear them coming.

Bruce must hear them too, because he curses under his breath. Jonathan has to stifle a laugh at hearing such vile words fall from such a pretty mouth. 

“Such poor manners, cursing in front of your host.”

Bruce curls his lip in a sneer, then he picks Jonathan up by the front of his shirt and slams him down hard against the floor.

He’s dazed enough that he can’t keep track of where Bruce slips off to, but at the same time he knows it matter little.

If he was desperate enough to steal from the Scarecrow in the first place, he’d be back again before long. And next time Jonathan would be prepared.

Something like anticipation curls within him and he feels himself smile.

Bruce Wayne was quite the unexpectedly strange specimen.

He can’t wait until his next break in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie this was pretty fun to write, if my Gotham hyper-fixation keeps up I might make some more content of these two, because they need it. (Why is it that all of my favourite ships are _rare-pairs???_ )

It takes nearly a week, but Bruce does eventually sneak back into Scarecrow’s domain in a one-man heist. Jonathan has been oddly eager to face him again, interested to see what new techniques Bruce might attempt to utilize to sneak by Jonathan’s followers now that they are better prepared for an intruder.

It’s good practice for them; training for a day in the future where something more intimidating than an unarmed teenager may try to overcome them.

But they are intimidated by the one who had slipped past their defenses. The one who had not only made it inside of Scarecrow’s lair but also made it back out in one piece, which was otherwise unheard of. They are more on edge about him, the man made of shadows, than they are about the gang members with guns who might someday attempt to rise against them.

He would be angry if he didn’t find it somewhat amusing. 

He doesn’t tell them who it is behind the night vision goggles; he lets them stay wary, lets them walk on eggshells. If he tells them who it is they’ll drop their guard and Bruce will slip in and out easily thanks to the incredible power of underestimation, and Jonathan will have to make another example of one of his followers.

No, it’s better to keep them in the dark. It’s better for Jonathan alone to know the identity of the one who has given them so much trouble. 

The secret is easy to hoard. 

All entrances leading into their storage area are guarded, all except for a small skylight at the north side of the building that Jonathan purposefully leaves unattended. To get on to the roof in the first place would be difficult; it would require either a highly conspicuous ladder or for the person in question to fearlessly traverse the empty patch of sky leading from one of the surrounding rooftops. Jonathan isn’t certain about how Bruce managed to make his way inside last time, or the time prior to that, but for some reason he finds himself thinking that even with the easier entrances blocked off, even with the unguarded skylight practically screaming ‘trap’, that Bruce won’t just give up and decide to go back to the Green Zone empty handed. 

Night falls, and he watches, and he waits.

And when he catches sight of a barely-there movement beyond the dirty glass of the skylight, well, he can’t say that he’s entirely surprised. The frame is lifted in absolute silence, as if the squeaking hinges had been oiled, which leaves no one but Jonathan looking up.

Bruce propels himself down from the roof on a line attached to some kind of harness. He seems more like a professional thief than he does a billionaire and the juxtaposition of what he is versus what he’s doing is funny, in a way.

But, then again, currency is useless in this city. Paper money was only good for something to burn, and even billionaires needed to occasionally do some work for the greater good, or whatever it was the people in the Green Zone believed they were doing.

Bruce reaches the floor and moves with the silence of an apparition. A dark ghost who advances with purpose towards the handful of followers that Jonathan instructed to stay behind for the night, who remain unaware that the one they’ve been worrying about is already amongst them.

Jonathan lets him take out one or two of them, for character building purposes, before he switches the lights on.

Bruce—

Is wearing googles. Different googles. 

He doesn’t react to the light.

And as the rest converge upon him Jonathan has a front-row seat to a brutal fighting style that he would not have thought possible of a pampered trust-fund baby. Jonathan’s followers aren’t untested when it comes to fighting—they’ve gotten into and won plenty of scuffles, they’ve captured and killed, they’ve proven themselves worthy to carry out the goal of the Scarecrow—and they do land a few hits, but Bruce manages to dodge an uncanny number of swings and stabs while countering with his own offensive attacks. 

He should be much weaker now, with the darkness that he’d twisted to his advantage taken away from him. It should be easy for these few followers to rally and bring him to his knees.

But it’s not. 

It seems that even Jonathan had underestimated his potential. He hadn’t kept many of his followers away from their nighttime duties of spreading fear into the surrounding territories because he had assumed that, with the lights on and Bruce outnumbered, he’d be easy to subdue. 

The oddities of Bruce Wayne’s character become more intricate with each fluid move he makes. Where had he learned to fight like this? Why had he learned to fight like this? Just how many tricks up his sleeve did he have? Jonathan moves forward as Bruce goes about dispatching the remaining guards, leaving their crumpled forms unconscious on the ground, and his head fills with so many questions even as, just like last time, his heart starts beating harder in his chest. 

There’s something horribly delightful about watching him exert himself, even if Bruce is actively working against Scarecrow. Bruce is not an enemy that he finds himself despising right off the bat, not like Gordon or the treacherous Penguin, he’s an enemy that Jonathan can hold some esteem towards.

Lethal in the light of day, but even more so when darkness falls. Jonathan watches with keen eyes as the last guard makes a valiant, though useless, attempt at putting a stop to Bruce’s winning streak. 

Perhaps Jonathan doesn’t hate him because there’s a similiarity between Bruce’s and his own strengths. They are both at their strongest when at home in the dark. They are both at their strongest when they provoke fear in their opponents. 

He doesn’t hate him because he feels an affinity towards his methods. 

He watches his final guard fall and knows that Bruce could be so strong, out here in the Dark Zone. 

Jonathan circles around him and Bruce slowly pushes his goggles up into his curly hair, following his movement with sharp eyes and a face void of emotion. 

“You’ve adapted,” Jonathan finds himself commenting. “Your talents truly are wasted in the Green Zone.”

Bruce frowns at him. “Your opinion doesn’t actually matter to me.” He rushes forward, and Jonathan barely manages to throw himself out of the way. The only reason he is able to dodge in the first place is likely because Bruce spent most of his energy on the previous fight.

He knows that, physically, he’s outmatched even if Bruce is tired. Jonathan always relies so heavily on manipulation and fear to win his battles. It’s all psychology; prompting the reactions and emotions that he wants his victims to experience. Darkness and shadows and creeping monsters in the corners of their eyes, like horror movie antagonists brought to life. Driving people to the brink with anxiety even before he and his followers struck. And even if that should prove itself not scary enough, he always has his fear-toxin to make people experience what they are the most afraid of. 

Bruce, if his reaction the last time Jonathan tried to use his fear-toxin on him was genuine, is at least wary of it being used on him for a second time. He can use that to his advantage. 

What was it that Jeremiah had set up for him all those months ago? What was it that Bruce was the most afraid of? 

Fear not for himself, but for his loved ones. 

How cloyingly sweet. 

Jonathan wonders if his greatest fear would be the same after months of living in this dark city where hope was wearing down with each passing day. He wonders what terror looks like on Bruce’s face. His fingers twitch, and Bruce catches sight of the movement, and he’s already in motion as Jonathan lifts his hand to aim.

Jonathan finds himself pinned on his back again, his fear-toxin spraying harmlessly against the concrete floor while Bruce keeps one tight grip on his wrist, the other hand pressing down on his chest. His legs clamp around either side of Jonathan’s torso, a firm pressure against his ribs.

When the hiss of the releasing gas ceases Bruce moves his hand from off of his chest and pulls Jonathan’s mask off of his face. 

Jonathan hasn’t been in front of another person without his mask for so long. Why would he? He is the Scarecrow, and what he looks like underneath is redundant. He’s not uncomfortable at being laid bare, mostly he’s curious as to the reaction his face will bring forth. He watches closely as Bruce’s expression flickers, as if he’s surprised to find someone not much older than himself beneath the rough fabric, and the unforgiving flintiness of his eyes softens just a touch, just enough for Jonathan to see a weakness that he can exploit.

Perhaps when he’s unmasked people will tend towards underestimating him, just as he’d known that his followers would underestimate Bruce if they knew it was him hidden behind the night vision goggles. People will see the ghost of Jonathan Crane as he used to be—a scared boy who spent his days crying in fear of the hallucinations that haunted him at all hours—and not how he is now.

Jonathan lets himself go limp underneath Bruce’s weight. 

“Well? Aren’t you going to finish this?”

Bruce furrows his eyebrows.

“I hadn’t realized you wanted so badly to be knocked unconscious.”

Jonathan has to hold back a dry laugh.

“That will only finish this for the moment. Don’t you want to finish it for good?”

Something blank settles over Bruce’s face. His stare turns neither hard nor soft, merely unyielding. 

“I don’t kill.”

How quaint. “Morals won’t do you any good in times like these,” Jonathan informs him. He curls the fingers of his pinned hand and Bruce’s grip on his wrist tightens to the point of bruising. “I’m sure most people have figured that out by now. How would your friends back in the Green Zone feel if they knew you’d had an opportunity to remove the threat of the Scarecrow forever, only to not take the chance?”

“That’s irrelevant. I can find other ways to solve my problems.”

“Can you?”

Bruce leans in, and Jonathan is distantly aware that he seems well-versed in the art of intimidation. Another point in his favor, when it came to Jonathan’s opinion. He is not-as-distantly aware of the quickening thrum of his own pulse, as well as the dawning realization that Bruce Wayne’s face is inches from his own and he looks even more striking up close. 

“Believe me, I can.”

And the strange thing is that Jonathan does believe him, because if Bruce can strike fear into the hearts of Jonathan’s followers then who, really, is completely safe from his influence when he is at his best; working in the shadows where he belongs? He imagines only a handful of people, and one of them is already dead. Bruce may still be soft, with an oddly merciful heart that is more suited to the Green Zone than out here, but everything else about him; his viciousness and scheming and the ease that he sinks into the darkness, could make him into a real contender out in the Dark Zone. His attachment to the Green Zone is holding him back from reaching his full potential, but only just. He still has so much room for growth.

And so much darkness is growing in this city already, of course even Bruce will be touched by it eventually.

Jonathan licks his dry lips and tries not to feel too curiously satisfied when he notices Bruce’s eyes flick down to the movement.

“What’s the plan, then? Are you going to keep me pinned until my other followers return for the night, or my guards start waking up? You took it easy on them, they won’t be down for much longer.”

“Well.” Bruce shifts over top of him, drawing back. “If I had the use of both of my hands I’d press down on both of your carotid arteries for long enough that you’d lose consciousness. Since I can’t do that.” His free hand fists itself into the front of Jonathan’s shirt. “I suppose I’ll just have to end this the same way as last time.”

“Developing a routine with me already?” Jonathan hums in conspicuous gratification. “People are going to get jealous.”

Bruce’s blank mask cracks for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips pursing. He doesn’t ask, but Jonathan answers the unspoken question anyways.

“First initial is a ‘J’, second is a ‘V’, one is a ghost, one isn’t—” He’s slammed hard enough against the floor that his teeth clack together. That alone is not nearly enough to keep him silent. “You like playing rough, baby? Did they know that about you, too?”

Bruce snarls down at him, angrier than Jonathan can ever recall seeing him.

He really is quite the sight to behold.

The punch to his jaw doesn’t knock him out, but it does bring a fresh wave of pain both where he’s struck and the sore spot at the back of his head. Bruce climbs off of him and presses his foot down against Jonathan’s sternum. 

“This can end now, or you can draw out your own suffering.”

Suffering. That’s a funny way to put what Jonathan is feeling right now. He moves his arm, Bruce deflects it with a kick. He can hear glass crack, one vial of toxin shattering and leaving the contents dripping to the floor in its less volatile state. 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Bruce crouches down and fists both of his hands in Jonathan’s shirt, lifting him up off of the ground and slamming him back hard enough that his vision goes black.

He comes to in stages, first aware of something light landing against his chest, then aware of the sound of hushed footsteps passing by his head, and then he opens his eyes and tilts his head back to barely catch sight of Bruce attached to the line he’d used to get in, rising up towards the skylight.

His eyes flick down to see what Bruce had, assumedly, tossed at him on his way out. 

His lips curl into a bemused smile when he finds a bottle of painkillers left over from the hospital raid. 

“Oh baby, you shouldn’t have,” Jonathan murmurs. “You’re such a sweet thing, for someone so vicious.” He licks his lips and wonders if Bruce has already taken back all that he wanted, since he seemed unbothered at the idea of leaving behind supplies for Jonathan’s particular use.

Was it a case of having a too-merciful heart, or wanting to leave Scarecrow and his men enough that they wouldn’t go on another raid any time soon?

Maybe it was a little of both.

Jonathan slides his mask back on and resolves that next time he won’t allow himself to be caught off guard by the fact that Bruce is strong even when he’s not in his element. In _their_ element, even. 

And the next time Bruce is so dangerously close to him, he’s going to do something about it. Spray him with his fear-toxin, or goad him—

Maybe kiss him.

Anything to get a reaction.


End file.
